


Gardening at Night

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter convinces Neal to come help him build a garden for El, and Neal ends up helping more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gardening at Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "heat stroke" square on my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) card, though I didn't stick to that precisely. Title from R.E.M. (which I would blame on [](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rabidchild67.livejournal.com/)**rabidchild67** except I think I'm a repeat offender).

Neal sighed when he saw Peter's name on his caller ID. It was Sunday, Sunday after six full days pushing hard on a case, and they'd spent far too much time running around the sweltering city, sometimes literally running. And literally sweltering. It was only May, but a heat wave had hit before anybody had time to adjust to the idea of summer. Peter had promised that barring some kind of shocking emergency the team wouldn't be called in on Sunday, and Neal had taken the opportunity to sleep in and then lounge around his wonderfully air-conditioned apartment sipping iced tea and catching up on his reading.

Neal reminded himself that he was at Peter's mercy as he answered the phone. "Peter?"

"What do you know about gardening?" Peter sounded like he'd run a few blocks before calling, and Neal imagined him chasing a thief who stole some valuable heirloom seeds.

"I know it involves soil and seeds and ugly green shoes."

"Great. Okay, you know how to use a shovel, I'm sure. You mind coming out here?"

"Out...where?" Wherever it was, Neal didn't like the sound of it.

"My house," Peter answered, as if it should've been obvious. "Look, El wants a garden, I'm making her a garden for her birthday, and she'll be back this evening so I want to be able to surprise her with it. I've been working on it since this morning, but it's taking a lot longer than I expected to prepare the ground."

"You know there are people who do that work for a living, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Come out and help me with this and I'll make sure you can go to the next gallery opening or whatever you want to attend outside your radius."

"The next three," Neal countered.

"Neal," Peter growled, then he sighed and gave in. "Two."

"Sold. I'll leave in about fifteen minutes."

"Good enough. Hey, bring some clothes you don't mind getting dirty. You can leave them here afterward, and I'll wash them with mine."

"You know, there are people who do laundry for a living, too."

"You're hilarious. I'll see you soon."

Neal closed his eyes and sank back on the couch for a moment to mourn the loss of his cool, relaxing Sunday afternoon then got up to get dressed and find some clothes he didn't mind sacrificing to the cause of two evenings outside his radius. Some of Byron's old man golf shorts were in a drawer in the closet, and Neal thought they'd be just right.

~~~

Neal blew his sweaty bangs out of his face as he waited at the front door of the house. He could have picked the lock or, with varying degrees of difficulty, gained access to the back yard in at least two other ways, but he didn't want to bait Peter and risk losing all the advantage of doing him a favor. Finally, he gave in and called Peter's cell.

"You're here?" Peter answered, sounding like he'd been out running.

"I could let myself in if you want."

"I'm on my way," Peter answered drily, and a moment later Neal heard footsteps and then the front door opened.

Neal cocked an eyebrow at Peter where he stood with his clothes covered in dirt, his face red and sweaty where it wasn't streaked with dirt. "I'm glad I brought something to change into."

Peter rolled his eyes and opened the door wider to let Neal into the wonderfully cool house. "Thanks for coming. You want to get changed and meet me out there?"

Neal nodded and went upstairs to change. When he walked through the kitchen in his shorts and tank shirt, he saw Satchmo sprawled on the cool floor. "You're smarter than we are," Neal told the dog, who just perked up his ears and watched as Neal went outside. On the back porch, Neal found a pair of work gloves waiting for him. Peter was back at work, and Neal realized that he looked exhausted. He was fit, both of them were, but they weren't anything like experienced farm hands or day laborers, and the heat and humidity only made everything worse.

Neal pulled on the gloves and walked up next to him. "Okay, so what do you need me to do?"

"Well, I'm just about done getting all the grass up, and then I'm going to dig channels for the frames to go into, for the raised beds. The plans for building the frames are over there with the lumber; do you think you could work on knocking them together?"

"I think I can manage it, but you should go inside and take a break in the a/c."

"I'm fine." Peter shook his head. "We don't have that much time, and we need to get the frames built and set up, then fill them with the soil mix and put in some plants."

Neal thought about telling Peter that it wasn't a great idea to put the new plants out in this heat, but Peter was determined to put the perfect garden together for Elizabeth, and she'd love him for it even if the first batch of plants withered. "Okay, I'll be over here."

He read through the instructions and looked at the tools and supplies then started nailing the pieces of wood together. It wasn't bad work, really, and as he got into the rhythm of it, it was easy to zone out on the background sounds of the neighborhood punctuated by the thud of the hammer on wood and the scrape of Peter's shovel in the ground. Neal had just finished the base of the second of three frames when a different sound jostled him out of his zone and he turned around to see Peter standing bent over with his hands on his knees, dry heaving weakly.

Neal dropped his hammer and jogged back across the yard to Peter's side. "Hey," he said gently as he put his hand on Peter's back. The back of Peter's shirt was drenched with sweat and he was swaying where he stood. As the dry heaves subsided into unsteady, panting breaths, Neal wrapped his arm around Peter's back and nudged him to stand up. "Come on, we need to get you inside."

Peter shook his head, but Neal ignored him; Peter didn't have a say anymore. As he stood up straight, Peter swayed harder into Neal's side, and Neal bore up under the weight and muscled Peter up the few steps to the back door and inside to the kitchen. Peter started to shiver as soon as he hit the air conditioning, and Neal guided him down to the floor then grabbed Elizabeth's little fold-up step-stool and used it to prop up Peter's feet. He crouched down and checked Peter out the best he could, trying to decide how serious the situation was.

Satchmo had scrambled over and was busily licking Peter's face until Neal shooed him away. The unlicked side of Peter's face felt damp and cool, and his pulse beat too fast under Neal's fingers. "Peter? Are you with me?"

"Yeah." Peter's eyes were closed, and he raised one hand to press it against his forehead. "Headache."

Neal rested his hand on Peter's chest, feeling the heavy but steady breaths. "Where do you have a thermometer?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Medicine cabinet."

Neal patted Peter's shoulder. "Be right back." He ran up the stairs and found a digital thermometer in the medicine cabinet, then grabbed a handful of washcloths and hurried back downstairs. Peter looked the same, and Neal crouched down again and put a hand on the side of his face. "Still with me?" At Peter's nod, he touched the tip of the thermometer to his lips and Peter opened up to let it in.

While the thermometer worked, Neal pulled up first-aid instructions on his phone. When the thermometer beeped and Neal pulled it out to see the result of 102.2° he felt sick but relieved at the same time. It wasn't good, but it wasn't heat stroke and Peter probably didn't need to end the weekend with a trip to the ER. "Okay, it's not too bad. Just stay where you are and let me try to cool you down."

Peter ran his hand over his face and groaned, and Neal took that as assent. Peter's shorts and t-shirt were loose, so it didn't seem worthwhile to wrestle Peter out of them, but Neal steeled himself then pulled off Peter's sneakers and socks to give him some more surface area to get cool. There wasn't any sports drink in the fridge, so Neal made up some salt water and put it over ice then ran water into one of El's big mixing bowls. With the glass and bowl and the pile of washcloths, Neal sat cross-legged on the floor next to Peter.

"Do you think you can sit up a little to drink some of this?" At Peter's nod, Neal put a hand behind Peter's shoulder to help him up then steadied the glass as Peter took a few sips, frowning at the taste. "Yeah, sorry about that. Okay, lay back down."

Peter slumped back to the floor, then sighed with relief when Neal put a folded up wet washcloth on his forehead. "Thanks," Peter said, his voice low and rough.

"I told you to go inside and cool off, but did you listen?" Neal wet the other wash cloth and started sponging off Peter's face and arms as Peter just lifted his eyebrows in a tiny shrug then lay still. It was disquieting to see Peter so passive, and part of Neal wanted to yell at him. He was certain that the last thing Elizabeth Burke wanted for her birthday was to find her husband with his brain fried in the heat, and Neal didn't want to think about what could've happened if he hadn't agreed to come over. He shook his head, trying to shake off his anger.

Neal continued his efforts to cool Peter down, pausing regularly to make him take sips of the salted water, and when he took Peter's temperature again it was down to 100°. "What do you think about getting off the floor and going to take a cool shower?"

Peter sighed heavily then opened his eyes and pulled his feet off of the stool. "Let's do it. I need to get my head clear so I can finish up out there."

Neal didn't argue, but he was certain that Peter's work day was over. Neal had ended up dizzy and sick once after spending too many hours in a certain Spanish plaza casing a museum, and after he'd stumbled back to the hotel room with Kate he spent the rest of the day and night glued to the bed with exhaustion. He just steadied Peter as he stood up then kept a hand on his back as they trudged up the stairs together. Peter glared as Neal tried to follow him into the bathroom.

"Your wife will kill me if I let you crack your head open in the shower."

"I'll take it slow. I'll be okay."

Neal lifted his eyebrows, and Peter put his hands on his hips. If he was strong enough to be stubborn, Neal thought he was probably recovered enough to keep standing in the shower. Neal shook his head but backed off. "Shout if you need me."

Neal found clean boxers and a t-shirt in Peter's room and left them in the bathroom then went downstairs, keeping his ears open for any untoward sounds from above. With a clean dishtowel, he mopped up the water and sweat from the kitchen floor then took the bundle of damp cloth to dump in the hamper upstairs. He slipped the thermometer in his pocket and brought up a cool bottle of water for Peter. He heard the shower cut off as he reached the top of the stairs, and a few minutes later Peter came out, moving slowly but looking better than he had since Neal arrived.

Peter sat on the side of the bed and rested his head on his hand. "I feel like I got slammed with the flu."

Neal put the bottle of water down on the bedside table. "You'll feel better tomorrow." He held out the thermometer to Peter, who sighed and resignedly stuck it under his tongue.

Peter sat listlessly until the thermometer beeped. "99.5. I assume that's better?"

"It was over 102."

"That's…not great." Peter shook his head and stood up, only to pull back the covers on the bed. "I'm going to close my eyes for a while. Will you wake me up in about an hour?"

"Sure." Neal had no intention of waking Peter up that soon. "What time is Elizabeth getting in? Is she expecting a ride from the airport?"

"Her plane is supposed to land at 7:30—the flight number is on the fridge. But she'll get a cab home." Peter pushed most of the covers away and stretched out under the sheet.

"Okay. Get some sleep."

Once Peter closed his eyes, Neal turned off the light and went downstairs. Satchmo was standing at the back door, so Neal let him out and went to look at the garden in progress. It really was a mess, with scraped open squares of earth and piles of wood, rocks and topsoil along with pallets of young plants. Dusk had begun to set in, so the sun was cooler than it had been in the mid-afternoon. As far as Neal could tell, most of the worst of the work was done—he only had one more frame to build, and Peter had nearly finished with the channels the frames would sit in.

Neal was starving, so he scavenged some leftovers from the fridge and ate them while reading through the gardening book Peter had left on the table. He had at least two hours before Elizabeth got home, and Neal thought that he might just be able to get the work done before that without keeling over himself. He took a bottle of water out with him and paced himself, finishing the digging and then putting together the last frame. The frames were supposed to have some finishing touches, but those could wait for another day; they'd have a shabby chic appeal on their own. Getting the frames in the ground by himself was awkward, but Neal got it done.

When the yard got too dark to see clearly, Neal went inside and checked on Peter then turned on the porch light and went back to work in the cooler night air. He layered in the rocks and soil the way the book had described, and he was just smoothing out the top layer of dirt when the back door opened and El stepped out on the porch, much too early.

"Hi, Hon!" She called out. "Wait. Neal?"

Neal brushed his hands off on his shorts as he walked over and ran through a few potential stories before deciding to just tell her the truth. "You weren't supposed to see this quite yet."

"What is it?" She squinted her eyes and looked past Neal into the dark yard. "Are those raised garden beds? And where's Peter?"

"It's almost a garden, and Peter's upstairs. He's okay, but he got a little over-heated working out here so he's in bed."

Elizabeth frowned. "And he was rushing to get it done before I got home." She shook her head. "I love my husband, but sometimes he's kind of an idiot for such a smart guy."

Neal grinned. "I decline to comment."

"I'm sure." El stepped out of her heels and dangled them from her fingers as she looked at the pallets of plants. "I understand if you need to go home, but what do you think about staying and helping me get those planted?"

"After you change?" Neal nodded at her dress.

"After I change and check on Peter."

"I'm pretty sure I owe you at least one favor, and I'd be happy to stay anyway."

El smiled. "I would hug you but you're filthy. Come in and get something to drink while I go change."

"I can do that." Neal sat and scratched Satchmo behind the ears while he drank a glass of water and relaxed until El walked back into the kitchen in denim shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops with a pair of gardening gloves in hand.

"Peter's fine. I woke him up to say hi, and he said he felt better."

"That's good. His temperature was almost normal the last time I checked."

El looked up at him, worried. "How high was it before?"

"Over 102. But it went down quickly once we came inside."

El put her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god. I don't even care that you're filthy." She wrapped her arms around Neal for a quick hug full of warmth and relief. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"I'd be in trouble if anything happened to Peter."

El looked at him like she knew far more than he would ever say. "Right. Okay, let's put plants in the ground!"

A cool breeze had picked up, making the night—and the work—pleasant. Together, they created neat rows of flowers and vegetables to complement the herbs El had growing in pots. Neal thought about what the yard would be like by the end of the summer, if they were lucky. It would be lush and fragrant, a beautiful thing to look at after a meal served with fresh salad from the garden. More than ever, Neal didn't want to be anywhere other than New York, anywhere other than where he was.

"Stay overnight," El said, squeezing Neal's arm. "It's so late. I'll make breakfast in the morning, and we can show Peter the finished product together. I think you two can be late to work for once."

"I hope he's not upset that you had to work on your own birthday present."

El smiled and shook her head. "This evening was a gift, too."

Neal didn't know what to say to that, so he was quiet for a moment. "Of course I'll stay," he said, and he meant it.


End file.
